The Magar: Ruination
by RomVari
Summary: Before the League of Legends formed, before Noxus and Demacia, there was the Magar. But a grief stricken King brought ruin to this ancient kingdom, and created the undead that plagues the world even today. But what happened that day? What happened before the Ruination? What happened to the man who history forgot? Witness the last Golden Age of the Magar and the end of a nation.
1. Chapter 1

_From the Author_

 _Not to take up to much of your precious time, but I thought a foreword to be appropriate. Welcome to my first LoL fanfiction! Exciting, isn't it? This first introductory chapter ended up a lot longer than expected at nearly 6000 words, yet covers little. Can't help it. Got to be precise. Anyways, this is but a set up for the story, not quite a prologue though. If you read the summary, than you know what the general idea is. Though this starts out a bit slow, I promise there will be Action! Drama! Romance! Horror! Humor! Though that last part might fall short. Anyways, all I can hope for is that you will enjoy this intro, and if anything, I hope I roused your curiosity._ _PS: Don't own LoL, that's Riot Game's domain, do not sue me. Damn._

Chapter 1: A Forgotten Man

We know that there exists only three states of the mind. There is the conscious, where we think and act out our desires and needs. There is the subconscious, the lesser understood state that dictates our desires, the part that only shows itself in our slightest actions and sometimes, rarely, in our dreams. And then there is the neither. The part that we have not been able to even describe. Perhaps we were never meant to. For some it is the darkness that one experiences only during some nights rest. Others say it is a bright light, as if creations after image embedded itself on our psyche. This state is hard to study, for it is hard to reach. One can only remain in this state for as long as it exists in their situation. Some meditate. Others just need to rest. But more often for the average man, they just need to be dying.

For the old man on the shore, this was the case. Little more than a corpse, he lay on his back neither thoughtful nor dreaming. The waters washed over him endlessly, never once bothered by his presence, their task unimpeded.

And the old man just lay there, unable to care. He was just stuck in this state of being, not quite dead, not quite live.

Now this state is quite fragile and very hard to maintain. So eventually there has to be a choice. Something needs to happen. And it did. Life won out.

It was not a pleasant experience to say the least. Out of nowhere thought, consciousness, and feeling rushed back into the body of the old man. And the first thing in his brain was the realization that he couldn't breath. So flopping onto his stomach, the first thing he did to celebrate his triumph over death was to wretch water from his lungs and gut. The first thing he felt was water rushing from his lung to his mouth. The first thing he heard was an old man coughing and sputtering pathetically. But the first thought that crossed his mind was that he was alive.

After getting rid of the excess water on his person, he stood and trough a baffled and confused mind tried to figure out where he was. Looking at the shore gave way to nothing. Everywhere he looked there was just fine white sand. Or was it ash? Whatever it was, looking inland all he saw was this white powder stretching away as far as his aging eyes could see. Looking back towards the waters that almost claimed his life offered no clue either, but more distress rather. Dark waters stretching away the same way the sand did. No ship, no land anywhere. Just a deep dark ocean under the light blue sky. And the sun… Where was the sun?!

He spun around a couple times, frantically searching for the source of the light which by he could see, and he found none. The sky was light blue, there was light; but there was no sun he could find. Where the hell was he? He never seen a beach with this white sand before, never heard of one. Something unsettled him about those dark waters. They smelled of no ocean he ever knew of. Where was that salty breeze he knew? After a quick sample of the water, his fear proved real. It was all fresh water.

What the hell was this? Where the blazes was he. There were no fresh water oceans, and he never heard of an island inland of such size. And the sun missing was also a big clue as to his situation not being normal. So what did this mean? He asked himself this aloud, his voice loud compared to the waves.

"What place has no sun, fresh water oceans, and white ash as far as the eye can see?"

He contemplated this, standing up finally on weary knees. Hand on his chin, he thought about it for a while. He was expecting his mind to be a bit more addled after a near drowning like that, but he felt strangely focused.

"No place in Valora. So if I'm not on Valora… where does that leave me? Magic? Extra dimension? Other planet? …. Inside my own mind?"

Looking around again at the barren shore he decided that last one was the least likely. He didn't have much going for him, but he liked to think that he amassed quite a good amount of knowledge over the years.

Musing like this for a while longer, he eventually gave up on just standing in place like a statue. Not caring for the direction particularly he started going along the shore. And He walked and he walked, weary bones carrying him along. He was hoping to find something eventually. Logic dictated that he would. But why was it taking so long? He has been walking for hours, and was yet to stumble upon anything. Even stranger, he was not feeling weary at all! He knew that his aged body shouldn't have been able to carry him this far, but besides his aching knees and his chest, he felt fine. He hasn't felt this full of energy in years.

This moment was promptly ruined by his sudden tumble as he tripped over something. One moment there was but an endless shore in front of him, next he was taking a tumble. After some cursing and groaning he stood up and looked at the object he tripped over. It was a rusty round shield, halfway sticking out of the sand. It bore many battle marks, but was of a sturdy design, though simple. He only ever saw such a shield in the old vaults, ancient trophies from bygone days. And even more confounding was the half buried statue not far behind the shield. How did he miss that!

Walking over to the marble statue, he cautiously reached a hand out. He knew there was nothing to fear from inanimate objects, but he has had enough surprises for the rest of his life time. The statue was of a woman, breathtakingly beautiful. She held a sowing needle high in one hand and a scalpel in the other. Adored in simple clothing, few pieces of jewelry adored her besides the ornate band on her crown. Putting a hand on her cheeks he wiped some of the white dirt off. A cupid lips, kind eyes, and a button nose greeted him. She was clearly some sort of healer, but also from a different era. The band told him so, he has seen the likes in old books.

"What are you doing here, hmm?"

But the statue didn't reply. He wasn't expecting it too, but would not have been shocked if it did. Stepping back he wiped off some of the water on his face, only to find salty tears running down his wrinkled face. He felt awful, his aching chest hurting as if it was stabbed in the heart.

And that's when he heard something. Spinning around, he could have sworn that there was a noise right behind him. But all he found was that the shield he tripped over was now noticeable more embedded in sand than before. Gazing around with squinted eyes, he looked around once more before wiping the tears away, and with a loud harrumph he turned inland.

Setting off into the distance he was greeted with much the same sight. Here there was silence, no waves crashing upon the shore. Just his footsteps crunching on the sand. But he did find more peculiar object here. He stumbled upon and old woven doll, a small unbound book with its pages full of runes he could understand, and broken vase with ornate pictures. He was getting quite used to the endless track and the unsettling openness all around him. He had plenty of time to muse, yet no clue showed up as to where he was or why his heart hurt so much. But besides that, it was peaceful, if a bit unsettling.

That is until the very sharp pain of walking into a tree caused him to yelp out in surprise.

Clutching his now aching nose he looked around in absolute confusion. One moment he was walking in the desert of endless white sand, now he stood in a forest full of pale, dead trees. Covered in sooth and ash, the husks of trees surrounded him branches swaying as if caught in a breeze he could not feel. What the devil was going on now?

And that's when he realized that there was something amiss. Not that he just appeared in a dead forest all of the sudden. He was honestly expecting something weird to happen eventually. That was the only logical option after the day he was having with almost drowning and waking up on an endless beach. No, what caught his interest was that he heard something for just a split second after the skull rattling collision with the damned tree.

"Hello?"

But after a few seconds of waiting, no reply. Perhaps he just imagined it as near that statue. After all, it was probably just the noise of a soft nose hitting the hard trunk of the tree that peaked his interest. But it bothered him still. So far, the only noise he has heard after leaving the shore was… nothing. And he could have sworn that he heard giggling…

…

Giggling?

…

An idea popped in his mind. He realized that the plan was sort of insane, but he also knew that the whole situation he found himself in was too. Might as well. Besides, if there was no one around after all, there would be no witnesses to his madness. He would just have to live with the memory. Dramatically, he shrugged and declared loudly.

"Guess it's just the wind."

And with that he made a show of whirling around and walking into a tree with gusto. Forehead first, he caused a loud bang, and made a show of falling on his ass as extravagant as his old body allowed. He sat for a moment, thoroughly in pain but attentive. And it paid off. He clearly could hear a girlish giggling coming from all around him. Someone was laughing at him!

"I know you are there now! Show yourself!"

The giggling stopped instantly. He looked around slowly, trying to find the offender. There were plenty of trees around all of the sudden, a lot of cover to hide behind. But he was determined. To do what exactly? Even if he found who was hiding what would he do? Question them? Demand answers? Just wh…

"Hi"

Right in next to his ear! He jumped, giving out a yipping noise that did not match his dignified age. And whirling around him found a young woman invading his personal space. She giggled lightly again and spoke.

"Sorry about that. Didn't mean to startle you. Or laugh. But I rarely get to see something so funny round here. And that was soooo funnnnny."

The woman spoke with a sort of energy and joy, and the old man found that his fear and anger evaporated almost instantly. She was a beautiful creature, and reminded him of the statue on the beach. It wasn't the look really, for she had rosy cheeks, with big doe like eyes that gleamed in the light. Arched eyebrows, and a prominent visage. She herself seemed womanly in all perspectives, perky breasts and slender limbs that moved full of life he did not feel in himself. Her long black hair was a neat mess, full of ash, tangled but looked like an elegant veil on her. Her cloths were a tatter, too big on her, simple in design but ragged. She still managed to make them look like a natural fit on her, like when his niece got into his wardrobe and stole one of his robes. The memory made his heart ache even more for just a second. But despite her ragged state, the young woman in front of him still reminded him of the state, because despite all the filth and the wear and the tear, she just looked… perfect. And in his experience, nothing in the world looked this beautiful despite all, except those that were made.

His thoughts were interrupted as the woman stepped back, put a hand on her waist and wavered the other in front of her face. She called out, voice full of youth.

"Hello? Is everything alright?"

He found it difficult at first to speak, his tone even and listless compared to hers.

"Yes, fine."

"You aren't mad about me laughing at you?"

"No, no, it's quite alright. It was supposed to be funny anyways."

"Wait. You're telling me that you walked into a tree twice. For laughs?" She tilted her head, clearly amused.

"Once. The first one was an accident. I wasn't exactly expecting a forest to appear out in the middle of nowhere."

"They didn't." Another giggle. "Trees don't just appear, silly. You did though!"

"Which remind me. Could you tell me where I am exactly?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." She even shock her firmly once, the action both comical and dignified on her.

"And why is that?"

"Because there isn't an 'exact' here anywhere." She said this as if he just missed the most obvious thing. He just looked back with a deadpan look, eyes locked on each other. To his surprise, her eyes were a faded, pale blue that did not match her character. Yet they contained wisdom and power, along with sadness. He recalled that he was always good at reading people's eyes. His chest hurt at the memory. The silence stretched on, and she just stared back with a slight smile on her perfect lips.

"Alright. Then could you please tell me where I am?"

"Yup. You are on the Forgotten Shore! Where all things come to be forgotten." She replied, as if it was the most natural of things.

"The Forgotten Shore?"

"The Forgotten Shore."

"Never heard of it."

"Well, no one ever leaves to tell people about it, so yea. Plus it's really just what some of the locals call it."

"There are others out here?"

"A bunch! More than you can count. But most of them are pretty boring. They can't remember who they are, they stop feeling things, and just lay about all day. Or they lose their minds and kind of go crazy. So it's really nice to meet someone who can actually talk! I haven't had a conversation in a few millennia. I think."

"A few millennia?"

"Time doesn't work the same way here as you're used to. Don't worry, took me a while to get used to it too."

"Speaking of which, would you mind telling me your name?"

She hesitated for a moment. Just for a split second her mouth opened and she froze up. He would not have even noticed it if he wasn't so weary of her. But in an instant she was back to her cheery self.

"Let. I am called Let."

She reached a hand out, and he realized it was a greeting. He took it in his own and kissed the velvet skin with his bark lips.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Let." He said.

Moments passed. Let tilted her head again, her smile becoming awkward in the situation.

"Aaaaaand you are?"

"Oh!" He forgot to introduce himself. "I'm…"

Funny. He knew who he was. He knew his own name, it's not like he forgot. His chest just suddenly started hurting again with the damned phantom pain. He just really didn't want to say his own name. What?

Stuttering, he dropped his gaze. Come on, just say it. He grabbed his head with two witted hands. It's your name, who you are. And yet he didn't want to say it. Didn't want to.

But before he could make up his mind, Let clapped her hand and spoke.

"Oh of course. Sorry, I forgot that you are new around here. The Shore has a tendency to make you forget things. Or not remember them. That's why everyone else is crazy. Except me of course. I'm good at remembering stuff."

"Why?" The old man groaned.

"I'm a goddess. It's what I do."

"No I mean why can't I say my name?"

"Oh, that."

"Wait you're a w…"

"Remember how I said things come here to forget?" She interrupted quickly before he could press her. "Well, the Shore makes it hard to remember. It's not that you can't say your name. You don't want to."

With that she turned around and started to walk off. He straightened up and followed. But after going behind a tree, he was stunned to find himself on the beach again. Stunned for a moment, he decided to screw it, and go along with it. He was getting used to the unexpected. Here on the beach there was an old stone building. A temple by the looks of it, supported on square pillars all around, with badly worn statues. It looked as if some giant hand just scooped it up from somewhere and dropped it on the beach. Let walked towards it, and he followed. The place was made of some sturdy hard stone, but was in a state of neglect. Cracks appeared in the wall, some of the pillars had fallen over, and the once beautiful statues and paintings were worn so thin that they reminded him of shapes in a spider web. Ashen sand cover most of the floors and caked the altars and shelves. Yet it was clearly well lived in. A path was made clean of the sand from points in the giant chamber of the temple. Lanterns, candles, and some sort of bulbous contraptions lit up the building bright, though the old man thought it to be pointless. Everything on this... "Shore" was illuminated by the mysterious light without a source. And yet, the bright yellow of the candles gave the place a sort of homely warmth. Drapes of all varieties lined the walls, hung from the ceilings, and clothed some of the more intact statues. Or in a few cases were so covered in fabric as to make them into makeshift chairs, outstretched arms becoming hamics and laps becoming seats. Really it was a lovely dwelling.

Lev walked in, a slight skip in her steps. Looking around it was easy to see sights of toys, puzzles, paintings and books of all sizes, shapes, and origins all about the place. Clearly she has been around this place for a while now and wanted distractions. Couldn't really blame her. With his brief experience with the Shore and how time seemed to shift about randomly, boredom was likely an issue. His own experience on the beach was still weirding him out. Thinking back on it, he seemed to have wandered around for ages, but could only recall a few seconds. Maybe it was just that. Or maybe not.

This place was starting to give him a headache.

Anyways, he decided to focus on the now instead. He spoke to Lev, who was making herself comfortable on a bean chair made of sown together robes of regal make.

"Nice place you got."

"Really?! Thanks! I was a bit concerned there. It's a bit of a mess. I don't get a lot of visitors." She looked away embarrassed for a moment, playing with her hair. "Actually, you are the first quest I ever had."

"Really?" That baffled him. She said that she has been here for millennia. Or a couple at least. And even if time was … weird here, she should have meet other people. "Is there really so few sane people here?"

"Yea. You are actually really lucky I found you when I did. Most people lose their grip on reality within moments. Can't come to term with being dead. Some are already slipping away even as I come to them. Others think I am just a ghost. Or a figment of their imagination. Others try to hurt me. And some get picked off by… scarier things."

"There are worst things out there then insanity inducing realities?"

Let took on a somber tone. "You couldn't even begin to imagine."

Moments passed. The silence was fortunately not as prevalent here as outside, with makeshift chimes ringing out. Jewelry hung from stings all-around of gold, silver, and other rarities. And yet even this didn't end the awkwardness of the stall in conversation. Until the old man realized something.

"Wait. Did you say we were dead?"

"Yup."

…

"What?" Let was confused by his astonished look.

"You just told me that I was dead! That is impossible!"

"No, it's not. Everything that comes here has died and has been forgotten by the world. It's how it works."

"So you're telling me I'm dead. I do not feel dead."

"And how do dead people feel exactly?"

"Not this alive."

"Really?" Let reached a hand out and placed it on his chest. Moments passed till the old man spoke.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes?" Let replied.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Do you feel it?"

"Feel what exactly?"

"Nothing."

He raised an eyebrow on that. He was very convinced that Let might actually be insane. Till it hit him. All he could feel was just the pressure of her hand slightly pushing on his chest. And that was it. He placed his own hand next to hers, on his heart, and to his shock, there was … nothing?

His heart wasn't beating. He really has died. It was a sobering thought.

"Wow. So this really is it. I'm dead."

"Yup. But don't worry about it too much. There is nothing you can do about it."

He didn't know what to think. He was expecting panic. Or fear. Sorrow. Anger. Something. But really, he just felt empty. Let just sat there in her seat, a length of string in her hand. He must have sat there for quite long, because the next time he spoke, the full length dress she was working on was almost done.

"So what now?"

"We talk."

"We talk?"

"Do you repeat everything I say?"

"Sorry. But it is only because I would like some clarification."

"Ooooooh. Sorry. I told you, I haven't had a chat in some time now, I'm not very good."

"It is alright. So what is it that you want talk about?"

On that, Let almost bolted out of her chair, her sowing forgotten. She jumped over to a pile of stuff, and began to furiously search through a chest nearby. Her excitement was pliable.

"We, are going to figure out who you are!" She haphazardly tossed items out of the crate, mind clearly set on something. The old man just watched for a while as she went from chest to shelf to closet to baggage. Curiosity sighed him though and he inspected some of the items tossed his way. A staff of simple design, made of hard oak, runes carved into it. And an immense power source coming from it. Nothing of note. A shard of some kind of crystal of a purple hue and jagged symmetry. It unnerved him how the light seemed to darken and shift inside of the thing, but chalked it up as insignificant. A tortoise shell almost hit him right in the noggin had he not amazed himself with a good catch. A hasty 'sorry' was all the attention he got from Let, who was still searching for something. He tossed it aside, not caring about the jingling of metal coming from it when it hit the floor. After a few more inspections yielding powerful artifacts lying about like trash next to some oddities, he decided to speak up.

"Would you rather not talk about our current local? I am still confused about this … What did you call it? 'Forbidden Shore'?"

"Forgotten. Yea, I could. But I rather not now. You seem a bit pale still from the whole 'dead' part. And I don't want to overwhelm you. There is quite a lot out there. Could write books, series about it. Actually, I did some time ago. Can't remember where the books are though. Aha! Found it!"

Let whirled back from a make shift rug sack to present her prize. In her hand was but a small silver pedant. No more significant looking than any of the mix match of items, it hung on a dual silver chain, with a pale stone fixed into its middle. There was a happy smile on Let's face, eyes sparkling with some joy he couldn't understand. So he decided to humor it.

"Yes! Jewelry! Whatever would we have done, had we not found it!"

"Quit being an ass." She punched his arm, which he found quite painful in his old state. He bruised easily. "This is going to help tell your story."

"I'm guessing it's magical?"

"Yes! Sort of. Kind of… Actually, no, no it isn't. But it's going to help."

Let took his hand and dragged him over to a couch near the back of the temple. Seating herself on the end, she made him lay down. Groaning and cursing his frail body, he lay his head on a pillow next to her. He has given up on questions and hopeless resistance. He was in a mad world and so was giving up on rational. Looking toward the ceiling he was greeted with a huge patchwork of fabric. It reminded him of the night sky, stars and constellations present. But they were all just out of shape, on the edge of being familiar. Still, the heartwarming colors the artist took to it was comforting. Though the giant robed statue next to the wall was going to take some time getting used to. After situating himself he spoke.

"Alright, now what?"

"Now you tell me about yourself." Let put the jewelry not over her neck as he expected it, but on her forehead. The pale stone hung perfectly on her brow, forming an almost perfect triangle with her pale eyes. It suited her very well. Had he been any younger, he would have had to break his gaze. But as he was, he just admired her for the beauty. And found himself thinking once again about how unnaturally perfect she was.

"You make it sound easy. I can't even remember my name. Or want to. However it is that you put it."

"I didn't ask for your name." Let put both hands on the side of his skull. They were so soft and velvety on his bark like skin. He found himself relaxed instantly. Her eyes were mesmerizing. Was she using magic on him? He didn't feel a tingle of it. And yet, he just felt like reminiscing.

Yet he could. He wouldn't. His chest ached and a nervousness was working its way past his relaxed body into his mind. He didn't want to remember. Or rather he wanted to, he wanted to know who he was. But… This was frustrating. Seeing his discomfort, Let just shushed him quietly and messaged his head.

"Just tell me a story."

"A story…" He felt relaxed again. He used to love stories. Noble knights vanquishing evil tyrants. Great kings who inspired and lead their kingdoms against hordes of enemies. Powerful magicians wielding great power only rivaled by their greater knowledge. Love so powerful that it reached across life times.

The sound of battle was a roar. Metal clashing on metal, man screaming out in pain only to be silenced by death. The air was think with the smell of blood, charred meat, and energized winds. His vanguard was holding fast against the enemy, pushing forward relentlessly. Clad in steel and magic, his man's halberds slashed, smashed, and pierced into the barbarians. And as poorly armored his foes were, they were numerous and fervent. In their mind they were not dying. No, to them death in battle was just the next step.

He was shoulder to shoulder with his elite. His armored body was barely touched by the axes and spears aiming to take his life. His sword would intercept them but moments before and find its mark before his opponents could even react. His tabard has turned red from blood, the fine detail unnoticeable from it. He raised his offhand, and five man lost their life with a flick of a wrist and magical energies stripping flesh from bone. He was a proud war machine, striding across the battlefield, voice ringing mightily.

"Forward! Cut them down where they stand! Send them to their gods!"

He was running high on adrenaline. His fervor was caught by his soldiers and they raised their voices as one.

And yet he was losing and he knew it. The left flank towards the hill was routing, and if it fell back now his plan would be ruined. He had to get their and hold till the spell was complete. And yet more foes dared to block his way, a shaman charging a powerful …

The child in his hand was so small. So fragile. He never held a baby in his hand before. And he felt nervous. Nervous over this! He has partaken in rebellion, faced dangerous cult and challenged monsters from nightmares. Hell, a single day leading his people was usually more challenging and nerve-racking than what most people experience in a life time. And yet he was so nervous. Was he holding her right? He didn't want to drop her. And even through this nervousness he was amazed. What possibilities did this child hold? What decisions, what…

Cutting trees. How he hated it. A life of a simple wood cutter. But it is what it is. He followed his father through the woods, daydreaming and letting his feet carry him whichever way the old man went. He knew this place like the back of his hand. So he dreamed about places he could barely fathom. He wanted to be a knight. He never seen one before, but he heard that they were mighty warriors of justice, infinitely wise. He doubted that last part though. People were people no matter who they were, and everyone made mistakes. Everyone believes themselves to be correct.

Maybe he could still become one. He was young, barely eleven. Perhaps if …

He never could get enough of this sight. The best thing that has ever happened to him. He would give up the crown that he spilled so much blood for. He would maim himself if he had to, just to keep waking up next to her. His queen. She lay there next to him, barely wrapped in blankets, her bare back turned towards him. The smell of sex still clung to the sheets from last night, their passion. In the back of his mind he knew that the maids who replaced them every day would bicker, but he just chuckled. He ran a lazy hand down her side, following the curves of her body. Starting from her arms and working his way down, he wanted more but didn't want to wake her. So at last he pulled the blankets up to protect her from the chilly air. Oh how he loved her. He never thought he would find anyone in the world who he could share a soul with. Someone who would love him unconditionally, for who he was, despite all his faults, despite all his mistakes…

The dark waters rippled all around him as he held the corpse in his arms, as if blown by a hurricane. Dark mists flowed out if the women he loved, from every pore, from her eye sockets, her mouth and nose. And she screamed from beyond this world. His mind was finally clear from the madness that seized him, and he saw the horror that he created. Tears running down his face he screamed like a lunatic, his voice joining his wives. There were no words to either of them, but every half said syllable, every howl from his throat cursed himself. The rotting flesh of his wife just howled in panic, of horror. The energies were conve…

He screamed out loud. Cold sweat ran down his body and he didn't know where he was. Something was trying to crush his skull. A voice joined his screams.

He struggled against the restraint on his head and broke free. He jumped off the sofa and stumbled. He looked around in a panic, looking his senses. It took him a long time. He must have taken a year or so. Let was a lot faster. She sat there, composed in but moments. She just waited, patiently sitting there with a kind smile. After a few more months, the old man spoke.

"What was that?" His voice came out as a croaks. He wanted water. He wanted the pain in his chest to go away.

"That was you." She replied. "Your memories."

Let stood, and walked over to him, reaching out an elegant hand. He took it slowly, cautiously.

"I want to apologies. But this has never happened before. Your memories were so vivid. So real. They are usually faded by now. Like a worn dress. But you just relived almost every moment of your life in but a blink of an eye."

She looked genuinely sorry. His heart hurt even more when he saw that. Genuine sorrow. He didn't want that for her.

"It's alright." Just two words. He didn't have much else left in him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, it's completely fine." He spend what felt like a year on that floor, thinking it all over. He had time to forgive.

"Look, I can understand if you're angry. I should have told you what I was planning. Prepared you. But I thought it be simpler like this. It has been so long since I meet someone, and I was just excited that you…"

"Karroy." He interrupted.

…

"Karroy?"

"Yes, Karroy. That is my name."

He put a hand on her slim shoulder. He knew his name. He knew the ending of his story. And now he wanted more.

"Or rather Karroy, King of the Magar, Usurper of Iodor. The Gray Lord. The Sorcerer King. The Bringer of Change. The Butcher of Ujfalu. The ..."

"The Ruined King." Let finished his sentence.

"You saw."

"Of course. That's what this is for." She pointed at the stone fixed to her forehead. So she saw his life.

"Let, I am going to be honest with you. Though with the way time works here, I might have been here for years. Decades even. But I barely know you. Or myself. And what you just did was fear inducing beyond belief. But Let, I need to know. I need to know what happened."

"Are you sure." Let replied. "From what we just saw there, it's not a happy ending. You might not want to remember."

"I am sure. I need to know.

Silence. Even the chimes have fallen still, and the Forgotten Shore reclaimed in noiselessness. Let and Karroy looked at each other, each wondering what the right choice was. Finally, Let smiled and waved an arm towards the sofa. She spoke, a bright smile already on her face.

"Well than, let's try this again. From the beginning."


	2. Chapter 2

"Before we begin, I still have a few questions." Karroy began.

"I can answer those later. Now, let's dive into the story!" Let was visibly excited, barely contained. She wanted to know more about who he was. She gotten taste of a good story, from the flashes of memories. She wanted to know the whole story. Karroy couldn't blame her. Poor thing must have been bored out of her mind, desperate for a source of entertainment. But his curiosity got the better of him.

"From what I understand, we have all the time in the world, Let. And I wish to know the nature of this place before any more surprises happen upon me." Karroy was set on finding out more about the Forgotten Shore. He knew virtually nothing about it besides that space and time were not as he remembered, and that he and everyone else was dead and gone. But what was this place? What were all the objects scattered around? And casting an eye on his host, who was this Let?

"Oh come on! We can talk about that later. I want to hear your story." The said host was pouting now.

"No, no, no. I need to know that I won't be tripping over random garbage or walk into another tree. Or get lost in an endless desert. Or that I won't just, I don't know, disappear. Or you. This place. Something!"

Let pondered his request visibly, a long, fine finger placed on her nose, pale eyes unfocused. Karroy could see her pondering on whether to push the issue or not. And with a musical sigh, like a singer preparing a note she relented.

"Fine." She walked over to a dresser near Karroy's spot, sat down on an intricate wooden chair that reminded him of winding plants. She took out a brush of ivory from a drawer, and started to work away at the tangles in her hair. And the ash. "What is it that you want to know?"

"Where to begin…"

"The beginning!"

"Ha ha." Karroy was genuinely lost. So many questions. He sat down on the couch again and began to formulate his question. He was about to reply when he noticed that Let had finished her hair care already. Not only that, but her long hair seemed to have been washed, conditioned, dried, and was being now styled. How long had he sat there?

"Where?" He finally asked.

"Hm?" Let replied in her musical way.

"Where is this… Forgotten Shore?"

"Nowhere." Let's answer was brisk and to the point, if a little lacking.

"Meaning exactly what? As in not on Valora? Or are we in space? Mystical realm? Figment of imagination?"

"That's your first mistake." Let replied, and Karroy's curiosity was peaked. She seems to have gotten serious. "You are applying to much thought to this. The Forgotten Shore isn't like a place that exists. It's not like a room you can walk into. It's not a place that exists on any map. It's more of a concept, a thought."

"Alright, so what concept does it represent?"

"Nothing."

…

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Or almost nothing. Or closer to nothing than something."

"Sounds a maddening."

"It is. The Forgotten Shore is a transitional state. Imagine a circle. Or a sphere. Imagine this sphere is called things and stuff. And all things that are stuff are in this sphere. The land, the oceans, the sky, the air, your house, your friends, your body, magic, ideas, concepts, time. Everything that makes up the world is in that sphere. And everything that is not that sphere, is nothing. It doesn't exist. It is not remembered. Cannot be named. It is complete nothingness. And the edge of the sphere, the skin, is this place. "Let waved her hand in a circle. "The Forgotten Shore. Where things come to die for the last time."

It was a lot to process for Karroy. And the very thought it implied shook him to his core.

"So complete obliteration?"

"Worse. This place leaves nothing." Let lost all her cheeriness. Her voice got quite, almost a whisper, lost along the sound of the chimes.

"So that sort of explains my next question of what is this place." Complete erasure. Oblivion. This cleared some things up at least. All those random objects all around. Those must be things forgotten, or at least being forgotten. He looked around once again. Those items of power must have had a story once. He picked up a shield laying nearby, tossed by Let in her search for the stone. The iron disk was heavily battered, scars of battle all across its surface. Yet it was still sturdy, if primitive. The thing has a story, bore its battle scars with pride. And no one knew about it besides him. He will forget about it with time. A looked around the place again with fresh eyes. Broken tea cups of fine porcelain, next to mugs of crude wood. All the tapestry, they all told their story. Some were made by nameless peasants long dead. A rug on the floor of blue and faded yellow. Children probably sat on it once, playing with toys or listening to their teachers. Amulets, swords, furniture, books, clothing, candles. The statues, hell this temple was all what history had forgotten. The two people sitting in this room.

"How could that be?"

"How could what be?" Let replied with a question, her tone understanding of the confusion he felt.

"How could I be forgotten? I was a King! I lead a golden age of expansion and unification. I led the Magar through decades of scientific advancements, philosophy. I integrated the Tsango, freed the witches and repelled armies of invaders. My battles were legendary! How could my kingdom, my nation forget me?"

"You did something horrible too." Let replied in a solemn tone. To that he replied, gravel in his voice.

"Near the end, yes. I messed up. I… I don't quite remember… I did something that defied nature. No. Violated it. "His chest pain flared up again and he grasped at his chest with a hand. Was this regret? Let was looking curiously at him.

"Well, we won't know the whole story till you remember." Let assumed her now familiar cheery tone, eager to lead the conversation elsewhere. "Oooo, I am just so excited to hear your story."

"From what I remember so far, I doubt it's going to be a happy one."

"You humans are funny."

"Pardon?"

"The way you select what you remember. "Let smiled slightly, leaning back in her chair. "I bet your life was full happy days. You probably laughed almost every day of your life! I bet you learned something every day. Loved someone deeply. Made something wonderful. And yet, whenever any one of you has to recall something, it's always the bad. It's how you got hurt. Never how you healed, or what you learned, or how you overcame. No. The only things you ever seem to remember is what you all wish to forget."

Karroy was not expecting that. He looked Let in the eyes again, and reminded himself that while she seemed aloof, Let had this aura of intelligence around her. Like she had great knowledge, but this place has eroded it. No, it was more like loneliness, solitude, and time had rusted over her. And Karroy just saw the wheels budge just for a moment.

Not to mention that she was right. Perhaps he should look forward to this. His story ended in tragedy, but surly there must have been some joy in there. He let out a deep sigh, and with but an itch on his rugged head reminding him that he missed something important in that conversation he spoke.

"Alright, fine. Let's get to the 'remembering' ".

"Yay!" Let clapped and leapt to her feet. Her cheeriness was almost contagious, and Karroy's cracked lips curved slightly upward at the sight.

"Lay down on the couch again."

"One last question though. What is with that stone around your head?"

"Oh this?" She raised a hand to the small stone that was held to her brow with a small chain. "This is just something that lets me see a little easier. To connect with your memories. It's something I had before I got here. Now, enough questions."

Karroy wanted to protest, but was interrupted by a hand on his mouth. Let continued.

"Enough questions!" Karroy lay back once again and gave up. "Let's get to the fun parts already!"

"Fine, fine! So what do I do?"

"Same as last time. Just relax, and think of how it all began. Think of your… childhood. What does that evoke?" Let placed her soft hands on his head again. He found her voice soothing. More than that, he found her question fascinating. Her voice invoked the memory. His beginning? It was an unlikely story. He hasn't thought about it for a long time now. His roots. His tree.

He didn't like to remember his childhood. It was not happy, but he had no reasons to complain compared to some others. He lived in a small town called Katyinka, a good distance from the central land of the Magar. The town was just close enough to have a public school, a small library, a hospital, and most importantly a post office. And just far enough so that no one knew the hustle and bustle of city folk, or the lack of scarcity. Always just a bit hungry, that's what he remembered about growing up. People lived their meaningless little country lives, one day at a time, farming. Folk grumbled about high taxes, yet where thankful that the border was too far to worry about raids. That's where he grew up. He was never meant for greatness.

He certainly did not look it. He was small and springy, his boney hips sticking out, his bones showing through. He had long, dirty blond hair usually, reaching his pointed collar bones. A small mouth, and rugged ears. He always thought that the only redeeming qualities were his noble nose and dark green eyes that hid under expressive eyebrows. He always wore a deadpan expression, most of which was interpreted by others as bored, sleeping, or venomous. But whenever the seldom occasion came for a smile, life flooded his face, and a disarming half smile would light up his glum face. Other than that, he was known for being rigid, and keeping himself clean, despite his occupation. He had too. Elder Paszo would not let anyone into the library who was dirty, fearing the fragile collection of texts that he amassed over the years. And he tried to spend as much time as he could in that small library whenever they got back into town. As long as it was open, he would be found in a dark corner by himself, and he would be reading. Sometimes just for the sake of reading, as when he couldn't find anything interesting, he would study the records and manifests. Oh how he loved reading, how he loved learning. If only he had more time to do so, but work was always in the way.

A boring life of a woodman. Out in the forest, away from civilization for weeks at a time with his father. If Karroy was quite, his father would have been considered mute. Never one to begin a conversation, he would only join if pressed. But if pressed, he would always speak with a mule like conviction. Really, he would rather argue than talk. His bald round head would animate, and it was like watching a rough cut statue come to life. A very rough cut statue, he had no roundness or smoothness to him. Everything was a straight cut on the man. Karroy never knew how he could be his father's son, for he had none of these features. He always said when he inquired that he was his mother's son through and through. Though he did not know what that meant, for his dad almost always avoided the topic, especially when out on the track.

The forest was his home. The Magar lands where mostly flat, with forests scattered around the plains. And he always found life peaceful there. The two of them traversed the great oaks, walking through the cool shadows of the trees. The thing he enjoyed most about the solitude of the forests, was the silence. The Magar forests were always so quiet, and the silent pair could hear everything for miles around. Bird song, stag fighting, water flow, and even the falling of tree branches. And though he enjoyed that life, he was never content with it.

Karroy wanted more than that. He wanted excitement in his life. Perhaps because he was young, perhaps because he was a fool, but he wanted to be a knight. He wanted to experience the world, live the life of the people in those books he read. He wanted to be meaningful. He wanted adventure. And a part of him, though he didn't know at the time, wanted power.

And so it would be, that at the age of 14, his wish would come true. He would get torn away from his small world, to adventure and glory. But as most wishes that come true, it was with a cruel twist. He was conscripted.

It was just bad luck. The two of them choose a road commonly traveled, something that woodsman like them rarely do. They should have hid when they heard the clinging of metal, the roar of the wheels, and the neigh of the horses. They knew that it was an army force, they were the only thing that could have made a racket like that in a place this remote. And after turning a corner they saw them. About 20 armed infantry man. Dressed in red tunics, the white stripes of virtue on their chest, leather and banded metal all over. A sergeant lead the troop on a horse, his armor made of steel. The metal helm on his head peaked in the Magar fashion, no visor to cover his long moustache. His face was a cold mask, bearer of both wounds of battle and bar fights. And as soon as they passed him he called to a halt.

And he was conscripted.

"Wait, hold on!" Let cried out, stirring him from his rest. "What was that!"

Clearly he had upset her. But as whit most woman in his life, he had no idea as to what he has done.

"You skipped a lot!" Let looked down on him from her position, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

"Of course I did. You asked me to begin from the beginning of my story, and the army was just that for me."

"What about your village? Your father? What about your mother? Did you have any friends you left behind? Lovers? Your life?"

"Burned to the ground, dead, dead, no, and no." Karroy replied deadpan, meeting her eyes.

…

Let looked at him sadly, and he regretted his action instantly. She did not deserve this tone of voice. She has helped him greatly so far. Hell, though it has felt like an eternity since they meet, Karroy had to remind himself that they barely knew one another. He let out a sigh, one only old people knew of, and spoke softly.

"Look Let. My life before I was taken from my father was … nothing. You asked me to tell my story from the begging, and that's where it begins. From 14, I was taken by that conscription force, a child soldier. By 15, I fought my first skirmish, barely given a weapon. I was bullied by my comrades, abused by my superiors. I was dragged halfway through my country, and I saw the world. Just like I wanted. Though, I only saw the bitterness. People hated us, and rightfully so. The kingdom had the right to conscript any child during a time of war, and it has declared itself to be at war with everyone who was not Magar by a fool of a king. That bitter experience made me who I was."

Let took that in quietly. Karroy could see it in her eyes, and the slight smile that appeared on her face that she saw right through him. He didn't want to talk about his life before that.

"Alright. But we will have to go back and see that part of you as well."

"… Alright, but for now… let's get to the interesting part."

The most well trained part of an infantry man was not the arm that he used to swing his weapon, but his legs. All the marching and foot slogging and heavy equipment made sure of that. But after a few years, it becomes barely noticeable. Kind of relaxing actually, if you can ignore your aching feet. Sargent Pantos raises his voice, tells you what direction to go, and you went. You turned your brain off, idly chattered with others when allowed, and just walked ahead.

But today was a bit different. There was unrest in his unit. First off, they were joined by the rest of the platoon. About 200 infantry man walked the dirt road towards a new camp in a border province. And what's more, rumors were circling about. Apparently they were to merge with another platoon. And assembling a crew that big could only mean that whatever they were sent to go fight was to be a challenge. And for the low morale unit, that was an issue. It meant less looting, and more dying.

The man next to him, and perhaps his only friend in this forsaken army, was dosing off. Janos had that habit during a march. The man could fall asleep anywhere, no amount of noise too loud to ignore, no position to strange to rouse him. And when on a lengthy march, Karroy knew that the man was usually operating only on half a brain, the other one napping. The issue was that if he fell asleep right now, he would end up falling over and tripping everyone behind him. And Karroy would be damned if he was to join in being flogged _again_ because of Janos' sleeping habit.

"Oy, up and at em!" His left hand gave the man's helmet a lighting fast hit, his metal helm ringing like a bell. Janos was startled badly, and looked ready to kill, up until he realized who the offender was. Grumbling rightfully so, he turned a sleepy eye towards his friend and the idiots around him who were laughing full heartedly.

"Shut your damned mouths you lot, before I shut it for you!" Janos wasn't really angry, more embarrassed, and the soldiers knew that. Did however quite down. Joke or not, you do not mess with a mountain of a man like Janos. The dark haired colossus looked more like a miniature giant than a large human. Muscle bound, the man grew exponentially almost over the years Karroy knew him. He was taken from his family about half a year after he was, though they wouldn't form a friendship till years later. Most people assumed instantly that with his broken nose and cauliflower ears, both earned from earnest beatings, that Janos was a brute. Karroy had assumed the same at first. But after getting into a near scrap with a man, followed by a heavy night of competitive drinking, the two formed a friendship. Janos wasn't by any ways a gentleman, or a philosopher, or a poet. No one was in the army. But Karroy found him to be a deep thinker, just like him. Janos was curious, and rarely took anything at face value. He would often ask questions from him, with almost a childish shyness, embarrassed. But Karroy was always happy to help out the curious colossus. And they worked together extremely well. Karroy was no longer the scrawny kid he used to be, but was still considered a scholar amongst his fellow soldiers. And that was considered an issue to them, a fact that caused him to be a bit alienated and respected equally.

And their symbiotic friendship was one of the only reason they made it to veteran status. Janos was a front line fighter, a battering ram. Dressed in a long sleeve red tunic, one could barely make out the white stripes on his chest, so covered in steel he was. Dressed as close to a knight as the strict regulations of the army allowed him as heavy infantry, his messy lock of dark hair was covered by a dented and scratched spangen that has protected him many times before. He charged into battle with a long shield in one arm, and a long mace in the other. He wielded the metal club as a regular man wielded a sword, its weight barely fazing him. Imagine now as a man like Janos, screaming like a lunatic, charges into your lines, mace swinging in deadly circles.

Karroy in comparison looked like an average no name goon. On a first glance his armor looked like the standard foot sloggers. Red tunic with the outline of leather underneath, pauldrons on his shoulder, black long-boots under shin guards and so on. And like the few man in the group who have survived this long, he learned early on that none standard equipment was priceless. If one listened carefully, they could hear the slight jangle of looted chainmail. The regulations where always strict, and the King's decree that soldiers were to be uniform was not popular amongst the man. The armor and weapons provided to the infantry were subpar, and so all who have survived long enough in the army knew to hide anything they gotten from some fallen foe well. Of course the sergeants' knew about it, but most were lenient as long as their superiors couldn't spot the offenses when passing by.

Besides that though, Karroy always had his long handed axe with him. He always found the weapon comfortable, it reminded him of his heritage. The long handle allowed him two use both hands and swing the axe head with unexpected speed, which he credited with saving his life as many times as it had. Of course, the almighty regulations said that he was to have a shield, and so it was always found secured to his back. He figured out early on that if he wanted protection from arrows, it was easier to just stay behind Janos. The man was a magnet for arrows, and so Karroy always could be in relative safety behind him. And once the carnage began, he would be found close to Janos, intercepting anyone who tried to outmaneuver the giant. Many a brave fool found out the consequences of trying to land a blow from behind on Janus to be an axe head through their helmet.

This symbiotic relationship has worked for them well, and both had managed to make it into their early twenties thanks to that. From child soldiers to forced warriors. Army life was not easy on them. It was very strict, with no freedom or identity allowed. Not to mention the bitterness that they all experienced. A lot of the man were forcefully conscripted, torn from families. And this in turn has led to even more bitterness from the soldiers on the world. Many became cruel, sadistic, taking a certain pleasure on raping and looting, thinking that it was better to be the giver than taker. It sadden Karroy greatly, and his tendency to look down on such individuals did not improve his standing. But he cared very little about that.

Out of nowhere Sergeant Pantos called a halt, his rusty voice easily heard over the stomping feet and grinding wagon wheels. After 3 hours, they were to take a half hour break, and the man instantly dispersed along the road side, finding spots to sit or relax. Karroy and Janos followed example, both complaining full heartedly as they did so often.

"The hell for are we going so fast?" Janos slumped against a tree with such force that Karroy thought it was going to fall over.

"You asked this a dozen times today. How the hell am I to know, just ask the boss." Karroy's bones cracked loudly as he joined his friend, joints stiff.

"Yea, because that would be so enlighting. We both know how that would end." Janos pointed his chin upwards in a comical exaggeration a clear imitation of the aforementioned. "You dare to question MY orders ya bed wetter? You a crown agent now? What next, should I call you 'sir'? Get your thin skinned ass out of here before I give it 20 lashes!"

"Ha! Quite down before he hears you. All I need is to get a lashing again just because you don't know when to shut it."

"What are you talking about? Who can't keep their mouth shut? Is this coming from the man who got us 20 more when he just had to tell the boss that 'technically speaking, a lash is a trial of honor of the Tzango'? Who does that! Who knows that?"

"I do, asshole!"

"Speaking of which, is that really true?"

"Oh, now it matters to you doesn't it? Visit a library next time we are in town and you will find out."

"Ha! Next time I'm in town, I am aiming for the inn. Pick up a bounteous wrench!"

"Well, look at you, using fancy words. I am proud my son."

"Shut your mouth. You are more like mother to this sorry lot. Always sticking your neck out for the greens."

"The more of them survive, the more meat shields!"

This is how their break went. Just trying to ease the mood. Others were doing the same, all over. The half hour they had was just about to expire when they heard the marching of feet. Pantos quickly remounted his stead and barked out a few commands, calling for attention. They knew that it was most likely nothing, but Karroy knew that it was better to be careful and live another day, than relax and die for a simple mistake. It was probably just another Magar group. And but a few minutes later he was proven right. A platoon of Magar soldiers appeared, about 2 or 3 times as big as their group. Not just infantry either, there were quite a few mounted units as well. As the new arrivals came to a stop, Pantos rode towards the center and disappeared for a few minutes. After he came back, he briskly ordered his unit to form up again and to get their sorry asses marching. Karroy's unit did just so, becoming the vanguard of the new collective platoon. A position he did not like. In fact, he did not like this at all. As if thinking the same thing, but a few steps into the journey, Janos voiced his thoughts.

"How many do you think this is?"

"Together, we make up about 1000. Full regiment I think." And more to come. They were apparently to meet more at the camp. And that could only mean one thing. "This isn't just some raid or suppression for some savages. This is a war party."

And that put them all on edge. Sure, most of their unit was veteran, or at least some experience amongst even the greens, but this was different. This was a response to something. They were still in Magar territory, but the border was not that far away from the Zango. Sure the barbarians were a threat, but they were usually disorganized, and a unit of their size was usually more than enough to handle a raiding party. But to organize something this big in such a little time? So, large amount of soldiers, brisk marching pace, lack of actual information, but still within Magar lands. One conclusion.

"I think it's a rebellion."

This was to be Karroy's first experience against such a thing. And it made him sick to his stomach. Sure, they have fought against their own before. Sometimes some soldiers were sent out to "motivate" peasants or locals to quiet down or pay their taxes and such. He despised that greatly. Fighting against invaders, or bandits was one thing, he was glad to do so. But he had his fair share of butchering his country man. He had to but 3 years after his conscription. That still kept him up at night sometimes. He knew that he was not a good man. He didn't really have the option to be. But this. This was the same thing, but on a larger scale. This was waging war on brothers and sisters. He could only hope that his assumption was wrong.

He found out the hard way that it was correct. And that the enemy was not only well organized, but had help as well. It was stretching into the late afternoon, when it all went down. Marching has become a tedium, and the bored soldiers were easy pickings. As far as ambushes go, it was excellently planed, if poorly executed. One moment the vanguard was there. The next moment became a blur as white light blinded Karroy and he fell back. Ears ringing, sight returning slowly, he scrambled up onto unsteady knees. He found it funny, that even though he was covered in blood, disoriented, ears ringing, people screaming, horses whining, he could easily hear Pantos' voice across the field.

"AMBUSH!"

Like they didn't know that already! Karroy drew his shield, kneeling and trying to regain his senses. It was getting better, and the initial panic faded. Another explosion hit nearby. It was a flash of blue and white, not so much a boom of an explosive but a roar of fire.

"They have magic! Spread out!" He heard himself scream. There was not much an average soldier could do against a sorcerer. His unit was under heavy fire, with flames appearing in the middle of the group. The smart ones dropped low to the ground and covered themselves. The unexperienced raised their shields and formed a wall. But wooden shields offer no protection against such forces, and they were gibed instantly. The unlucky ones followed suit.

This lasted but a few moments, though time is hard to tell on the battlefield. The sound of magical flames died down, and from along the trees came the sound of war cries. Bursting from them came the enemy, a rag tag group. Some of them were Magar soldiers, their red tunic's hastily painted dark blue. They charged well organized, shoulder to shoulder with their mates. Others were but peasants, wielding pitchforks and clubs, shooting arrows and slings. They were a disorganized mess, but ran with fervor, eyes set upon the confused defenders, tyrants come to repress them. They saw their weakness and like wolfs sensing weak pray they became ferocious. Most shockingly, a few of the ambush group was Zango. Dressed in pelts, faces painted in dark colors, they charged in like wild animals. The Zango were brutes, looted weapons and armor, their trophies proudly displayed.

Karroy was in a shit position, near the front. Most of the explosions were focused on the core of the vanguard, but now the attackers were upon him. A brave peasant, barely a boy ran at him full speed, aiming a shoddy pitchfork at his gut. He just held his ground, and when he got close, he angled his shield. The weapon bounced up and over him, and with explosive energy he leapt up from his knees and slammed the shield into the boy's ribs. He didn't as much hear the fracturing of bones as he felt them. He let go of the shield, and drew his axe, both hands on the hilt. The kid never stood a chance. He probably didn't even realize what had happened, still stunned from broken ribs. Karroy didn't have time to emphasize, he looked for Janos. The man was to his left, already standing tall, swinging the mace with terrifying precision. Karroy joined his flank, followed by the few soldiers that were both standing and smart enough to see the giant man as shelter from the storm.

It was a frenzy. Janos was pelted from all sides; swords, pitchforks, clubs, arrows, rock, all came at him. But what managed to get past his shield, his armor would get instead. Whatever came at him from his mace side, he barely even blocked, instead he meet attack with attack, and weapon and wielder would meet the same fate. The locals who attacked him were no match, but they offered a good distraction. Occasionally an enemy soldier would try to flank him or use an opening if Janos over extended from his group. These would find another opponent waiting for them, Karroy arriving swiftly. Relying on their shields just as much as the defenders, they would be shocked to find an axe head not burry itself in their shield or armor, but to shoot out and hook a leg, a shoulder, or arm. Off-balance, they would fall quickly to Karroy.

But that was clearly not enough. The initial barrage of mystic force crippled the vanguard, and the reinforcements were slowed down by the ambushers. Slowly they were getting surrounded. An arrow would pick one of them off. A weapon would find an exposed neck. A pair of pitchforks would make their way past the shields. The defenders were dropping fast, and instinctively grouped up to protect their flank. Karroy felt the change in atmosphere. He barely had time to scream 'INCOMING' before he dropped to the ground.

The mage was easy to see now, long elegant robes amongst common soldiers. His hooded face revealed little, but he was shouting words, and his guarding troops backed away from him. There was no magic fire this time. The attackers were way to close to attempt something like that. No, the air filled with the smell of ozone, and lightning arched from the man's hand. It found an opening, and as if it had some sort of sentience, pierced many a defender, leaping from man to man. Karroy, and some who had heard or seen the warning like Janos hit the ground. The bolt seemed to want to use the least amount of distance possible, so it avoided most of the downed man, though not the unfortunate ones. Not to mention that some were cut down even as they tried to get back up.

The melee resumed, the defenders began to waver. Of the 200 some that made up their group, but a handful remained. At a quick glance, this looked to be either the skilled or the lucky ones. And they tightened their circle, now fighting desperately. Had there been any greens or recruits, they would have begged for their lives, or try to break through and run. As it was, the veterans knew that their only option was to cut and hack at the enemy, and hope for a miracle.

And finally it came. Whit a scaling roar, the reinforcement broke through their enemy. The numbers turned in their favor, and the remainder of the vanguard were no longer encircled. Karroy was expecting the ambushers to retreat now. Clearly favors were turning to them. The element of surprise was gone, the ambushers number clearly more limited, and even their sorcerer was no match to their reinforcement. And yet they stayed.

Mounted troops made their way to the front. Charging in front of the defenders, they trampled those who could not get out of the way. Karroy found the lead horseman to be heavily armored in fine plates. A knight. The cape flapping in the wind, sword in hand, he was as if taken from a fairy tale. And he was right there, in the midst of it all.

New troops ran past Karroy, eager to push back the attackers. Most of the peasants disappeared, but more of the Zango were showing up instead and they proved to be worthy combatants. Karroy watched one infantry man charge straight into the fray, sword and shield at the ready. He was impressed, as the man fought off two opponents with ease. Fending off one with the shield, he was dueling the other as if using a saber. The encounter lasted but a few seconds, but both Zango warriors were dead. And the blond haired man just let go of a battle cry and found a new opponent. And he was followed by his mates, clearly inspired by the figure. Karroy found himself fighting next to him.

That is till a light began to flood the field of battle. Another magical blast. This was going to cause damage on both sides, but apparently the caster had grown desperate. Janos hit the deck almost instantly, but the newcomer hadn't noticed. Cursing, Karroy acted out of instinct and tackled him to the ground.

The flames enveloped everything for a moment. Ears ringing yet again, Karroy carefully got up. Dammed wizard. He looked around, and saw scattered fighting, but finally it seemed the attackers have given up. He looked down at the man he just saved. His face was covered with a mixture of dirt and blood, but it looked as if was not his. He stood as well, slowly leaning on his ornate sword. It looked expensive and quite well-made. The man wiped some of the filth out of his long golden hair and blue eyes. He then took off towards the reminding fight. Karroy just yelled after him.

"Watch yourself you damned fool!"

The man looked back at him for a moment, and disappeared from sight, the rest of his unit in suit. That left the reminder of the vanguard. A few tired, spooked and shaken man stood in a group. For many of them the sense of what just happened became realized. Some just sat down, shaking. Others cursed out loud about lost mates. A few began looting. Janos just flopped down on his back, looking much like a corpse, had he not been heaving heavily, desperate for some air. Karroy didn't blame him, the man fought like a dozen, and must have been tired. He himself, just leaned on his axe. A lot had transpire, and from the position of the setting sun, it must have only lasted but half an hour. And yet his whole unit was devastated.

The fighting continued up ahead, the reinforcements encircling those who began to route too late. Cavalry rode down those who legs didn't carry them fast enough. Karroy thought that it was all over, but once more he felt the charging of magic. He couldn't see the robed mage, but he could see the flash of light clearly. Up ahead, he saw the cavalry unit through the trees, and more importantly the knight from before. And he could clearly see him take the blunt of the magic. Compared to what hit them before, this one was on a whole new level. The soldiers were flooded in white light even from where he stood. Through squinted eyes, he could see the knight hit in the chest and fly from the saddle.

And just like that it was done. The enemy was gone, but the field was far from silent. The groaning and moaning of the dying was still there. Mystic fire still crackled slightly on corpses hit. The reinforcements were busy shouting orders, tending the wounded, and finishing off any who were beyond saving. Karroy just leaned on his long handled axe and rested. That is until he felt himself flop on over on his side as if he was a felt tree. He couldn't understand what had happened first. He didn't feel any pain, so it could have been a wound. So why was there so much blood underneath him? From his new vantage point, he saw his left leg soaked through with blood? His blood? Well that was a slight inco…

"That's an interesting point to start your story." Let spoke up from her spot on the edge of the sofa. "But why here? I thought you would rather talk about your conscription."

Karroy groaned loudly and exasperated. He was shaken awake from his day dreaming. Or remembering. Whatever.

"It has to do with context. The knight I saw, remember him?"

"I did just see everything you just remembered." Let looked down on Karroy and not just physically.

"Ok ok. Well he is key to my story. I only saw him for but a few moments back then, but I assumed that he must have been a commander of some sort. After all, in those days, the right for knightly armor was reserved for the nobility only. And I was right. I found out later that he was someone or another from a far province sent to prove himself."

"He was sent to help suppress the rebellion? Rough start."

"Ha. You could say so. Especially because he was fried from the inside out from that one bolt. The whole purpose of that ambush was to cut of our chain of command. That's why the rebels over-extended. Apparently they were on the hunt for any new units coming into their territory. And the fool got over zealous and charged right on in and got himself killed."

"That's disturbing." Let spoke. "Wait, so why is he important again?"

Karroy just smiled slightly and closed his eyes. "Because this is where my life took a turn. This is where everything would turn upside down for me. Had that man not died, I would have remained an infantry man for the rest of my life. Now, pay attention. This is where things get interesting."

Karroy awoke with the worst hangover he had ever experienced. But as his splitting headache returned with along with his consciousness, something told him that this was from no alcohol. His memories returned a bit too late, and he remembered the ambush. A shit way to begin a campaign. He tried opening his eyes but the light that shone through his squinted eyes was too much to handle. With much groaning and moaning, with a great display of effort, he fought this herculean task and opened his eyes. His efforts were rewarded with the scenery of rough linen tent top. Looking around carefully, his eyes landed on a man next to him, lying in bed. Covered in sheets, the man's pale head was wrapped in bandages. From the flower like bloom on his side, he must have lost an ear. From his ghost like paleness, Karroy doublet that that was the only thing wrong with him. The bed on the other side was much the same, a young man with nothing visible. He felt proud of himself for being able to deduce that he was in the medic's tent through his addled mind. And that's when he started to panic. People didn't end up in the medics line of sight, less they gotten grievously hurt. Was he missing a leg? Fingers? Was he okay?

His stirring warranted no response and so he slowly began to sit up, watching for any sight of pain. A medic in white uniform passed him by. The mustached man was busy looking over some sort of paper that clearly held more importance then his patients. Karroy began to grumble louder and take bolder moves. Finally, when he proved too much to ignore, the doctor sighed heavily and turned to him.

"Alright, up and at em. If you can make a racket, you are fit to move. If you are fit to move, you can get out. Some of us need to attend to the dying." Karroy hated army medics. No idea how they could chalk people up as mere points of data. Still, he supposed that was the only way to keep your sanity in a spot like this. That, and to the army, he was just another casualty report.

"The hell happened?" His voice was coarse. He wanted some water. The medic just let go of another sigh.

"Bleed out from a leg wound. From the chard shard of bone I pulled from it, I'm guessing you were hit by shrapnel. From someone who was hit by a fire ball. Messy."

Must have been from his heroics. This is what he got for saving someone? Priceless.

"How long was I out?"

"6 hours."

…

"6 hours?"

… Sigh.

"6 hours, yes. That is what I said."

"From blood loss."

"Yes, well. You were authorized to use some red stuff." Red stuff? They wasted a healing potion on him? On infantry? The hell for? He had more questions, but the medic would not have any more of it. He was physically shoved out of the tent by the grumbling man, and the only reason Karroy didn't knock him down for it was because he had patients who wouldn't appreciate a missing doctor. He straightened himself to his usual straight pose and looked around. It was dark outside, a moonless night has fallen. He was surrounded by camp fires and tents all over. From a tactical standpoint, he was probably near the middle of the encampment. Clearly they have set up on some meadow or opening not too far from where they were attacked. That's what the time stamp allowed for. Still dazed and confused, and generally feeling like shit, Karroy began asking for directions for his unit.

He found them relatively fast. The camp was well ordered and well organized, a feature he was not used to seeing under Pantos. But a few minutes later he was greeted by familiar faces, all welcoming him back from the dead. Well almost all. Apparently a few people lost a bet, and grudgingly passed silver pieces and bottles of cheap liquor to the winning party.

He found Janos almost instantly around a campfire. Even sitting, the man was easy to spot, his bulk hard to miss. He was in the middle of fiddling with a piece of wood, twiddling away at it with a knife. Karroy greeted the giant from behind with a well ringing slap on the back of his head. Janos about pounced on him before he noticed who was the offender. The look on his face spoke of both shock and relief.

"Well look who's still kicking! I don't believe it!"

"Good to see you too Janos." Karroy gave a friendlier pat on the back for his friend, and exchanged greeting with the rest of the group. "It was close, too close."

"Yea, not many of the guys thought you were gana make it. Last I saw of you was when the medic had you field bandaged and dragged away. Tell you the truth, you lost a lot of blood. Was pale as a corpse. Guess it looked a lot worse than it was."

"No. It was much worse. They used some red stuff." Karroy said. To that, the circle gave him confused looks.

"They wasted some red stuff? On you?" Janos was equally baffled.

"That's exactly what I said."

Janos just grumbled on that. "Hmmm. Actually that makes things a bit more clear."

"How's that?"

"Some assistant or another came by a while ago. Said to send the sergeant to command for further instructions. But the thing is Pantos finally bit the dust."

"Pantos is dead?"

"Yea. Arrow to the throat. Unlike you, he actually finished bleeding. Good riddance too. No one is going to mourn that asshole." Janos' face twisted into a sneer. Karroy totally understood that. He didn't usually like to hear about dead comrades. Usually he didn't care. But the man was the one who ripped him from away from his life and made his and all his comrades' life as miserable as could be. Janos was right, no one was going to miss the cur. Janos continued. "Anyways, told him so. He said to send the next in line then. Told him that the next in line and anyone else even remotely close to being in line was also dead."

"How many did we lose?"

"We are down to 48. Most of them from our own squad. A few from the joint ops."

"Damnation. 48? From about 200?" Never had they been hit so hard. Some good man were lost. A lot, not so good. And a few who he would actually miss. What a way to start a campaign.

"Yea. We are probably just going to have to form a squad of our own. So told the help that we will send someone with half a brain as soon as we got it figured out."

"So you all are just going to throw me under the cart?" A variety of heartfelt agreement echoed from the circle, which had grown in the last few minutes.

"Assholes."

"Hey, think of it as a complement. We want to smartest man to represent us."

"Fuck you all! More like none of you bastards wants to talk to the boss!" This was meet with a variety of embarrassed chuckles to heartfelt laughter. "So you lot elect a man barely out from deaths reach?!"

"That's right!" Janos joined into the laugh. "So get going you!"

Cursing under his breath, Karroy made to stand. He turned to leave, but a sudden move made him whirr back. Someone was shaking Janos' shoulder for his attention and signaling him. Janos' face took a taciturn grimace, and with visible pain reached into his coat pocket. To the gleeful joy of the man, Janos took out a small flask and passed the strong liquor over. Karroy thought about it for a moment, and realization hit him. He turned took a few steps back towards Janos and gave him a proper hit on the noggin again.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU BET AGAINTS ME! YOU THOUGHT I WAS GANA DIE!?" Karroy's face took on a shade of tomato, and once again embarrassment and hilarity ran through the attendees. Some looked away, others laughed out loud, and one man whistled quietly.

"Hold on now! Wait!" Janos the giant turned a bit pale, and could do nothing but cover himself from the rain of light blows coming his way. "You were bleeding out! I saw it! You were ghastly!"

"SO YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD MAKE A DIME OFF MY DEATH, YOU TWICE DAMNED ASS!"

"I wasn't gana like it but I thought STOP HITING ME!"

Karroy stopped his assault finally and took a _deep_ breath, releasing it slow and strained. "I'm going to see the boss man real quick. And after I am back, I am going to make you regret ever taking up gambling."

Janos just muttered and Karroy left. He was furious at first, a clear aura of menace radiating from him. Many a soldier jumped out of his way, not wanting a reason to pick a fight. Karroy felt betrayed by the one man he could call a friend. That mother fucker! He bet against him! ASS!

But his anger slowly dissipated just as quickly as it begun. To be fair, he knew Janos well enough to know that it was in his character. He was still his friend, even if he was an ass. Not to mention that from how he was still feeling, had he not been given some special privileges, he would have been very much dead. Still, he had to remember to plot some sort of elaborate revenge plan. Sure, he would forgive Janos, but that didn't mean he was going to forget about this. Not the first time this has happened anyways. He already had a plan forming, but he was going to have to bargain for that bottle Janos lost and find some sort of laxative. Knowing Janos, he couldn't tempt him to steal it, so he was going to have to arrange some sort of…

He finally got to the central tent. Two guards with spears stood vigil in front of the giant tents entrance. Once again, he took a deep breath and let slowly. He tried to fix his uniform as best he could, annoyed by the blood and wrinkles in it. Should have changed. And taken a bath. He still felt like shit from his near death experience. And now he had to represent a bunch of idiots. Nothing to it. He announced himself to the guards and was given a look over. Strangely, the guards seemed uneasy, and that hit a bad note with him. Guard duty was usually boring, especially near the center of camps were nothing ever happened, so people tended to be assholes to people passing through, trying to find amusement. These guys seemed… unnerved. And that made Karroy enter through the flap on his toes and eyes looking for danger.

He was unsurprised by the posh interior. High end furniture decorated the rug covered floor, none of that canvas covered sticks either, and it was all carved. Several armor stands with fancy plates. Why did a man need more than one set anyways? There was even a marble statue, a bust of a women. All this stuff must have taken at least two wagons to transport. Life is unfair as always. He got to share a tent with Janos, on thin mattress and a saddlebag worth of personal stuff. Mostly books. And there were surprisingly large amount of people in here. The boss was sitting behind a desk of dark wood, surrounded by 6 others. Karroy glanced over them real quick, looking each one up and down. They were all eying him since he entered the tent. And the issue was that it wasn't one of those 'who the hell is this' looks either. It was a look a man gives another, wondering if he would be a threat. But with 6 people. And Karroy was sure now that something was wrong.

Reinforcing this was the captain in front of him. Sitting behind the desk, the man stopped abruptly from his writing. Karroy couldn't help but notice that the man wore his armor still. Clearly not the set that got hit by that magic bolt. He didn't get a good look at the first one, but this one seemed very well made. Flowery motifs on his plate scales, the captain still wore his helmet, but no visor. Though the helmet covered most of his features, Karroy noticed handsome features on him, blue eyes, and a surprising youthfulness. But why was he armored. Was he that dedicated to whatever work he was up to that he just didn't bother to change? Something was off.

Looking up, the captain also looked over Karroy. And to Karroy's surprise, the man seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if he was surprised to see him. This lasted but for a heartbeat, and the man assumed a stony poker face. The hell?

"Lineman Karroy, 'Sloger' Platoon, reporting in, sir" Karroy threw a crisp salute, hoping that his aching and dazed body could deliver. He had a bad feeling about this, but did his best to keep his ever blank expression just that.

"At ease soldier." The captain waved at him and he 'relaxed'. Honestly, he felt more tensed up than in the salute.

"You summoned me sir?"

"Did I? I don't recall doing so." The captain was defiantly staring him down. From a sitting position. Impressive.

"I am from the vanguard, sir. The group coming in from Uolop. I am representing the remainder from the ambush."

"Are you the next in line of command? Was there no one else?

"No sir. Entire line of command was broken. The survivors just decided to send me instead."

"Yes, well, the vanguard did take the brunt of the ambush. Poorly executed as it was, it still was quite effective. What are your numbers?"

"About 48 sir. Though I am not sure how many of those are actually combat ready, and how many are just survivors."

The group around the captain began to wonder off into the tent, clearly put aside for now. Two of them made a show of standing to the side and crossing their arms. They were on edge. Attendees? But why were there so many of them.

The captain was hesitating. Which did not bode well. From his position, Karroy saw him as a young man, unsure in himself… no that wasn't it. The people around him were reacting to the man's confusion and some were tensing up.

"Alright, it is decided. I am now promoting you to sergeant in charge of the remainder of your battle group."

"Sir?"

"I need this force organized and on the move to meet the rest of our forces as soon as possible. And you seem to be the only one willing to do anything about that."

That made since. The captain put down his writing tool and made to stand. He approached Karroy and gave him a congradituary pat on the shoulders, face twisting into a disarming smile. It caught Karroy off guard. The captain spoke to one of his aids.

"Please make sure that a note is made of this and that the sergeant that his unit are taken care of."

"Yes sir."

"Now then. Describe your unit to me."

Why? Why did this man want to know about a few soldiers when he had near over a thousand to organize? Was he actually concerned? Karroy was yet to see a commander who actually cared about slave soldiers.

"Not much to say. Half of the group was from Uolop, a bunch of new bloods. Most of the survivors are from my original group sir."

"Are they efficient?"

"They had to be to survive that battle sir."

"Are they loyal?"

Karroy hesitated with his reply. "We are mostly conscripted sir."

The captain seemed … pleased? He nodded happily and turned back to his desk.

"You seem a bit pale soldier. Is everything alright?"

The final red flag. Interrogation.

"Yes, sir. Just recovering from battle. Apparently I almost bleed out. Doc said that I was approved for some red stuff."

"Red stuff?"

"Healing potion… sir."

"It was you then." The captain said. "I told the medical unit to use the stuff on a few brave warriors. It seems you were one of them. I do hope you are feeling better."

The man sounded so sincere. Like he actually cared. And yet, for some stupid reason, some forsaken reasoning, Karroy could not stop himself. Maybe it was from his still recovering mind. Maybe it was just sheer arrogance. Maybe he was just stupid. But he looked the man in the eyes and replied before he could think about the consciences.

"I am sir, thank you. I hope you are as well."

The tension could be cut with a knife. The quite muttering of the aids were quickly cut off. The captain's smile twitched for a moment.

"I saw you get hit by that bolt sir. Must have been some good armor." It didn't make sense. Why would he put on new armor? When did he have time for it? Why weir it for menial tasks? And why didn't he look a slight bit injured or weak?

"The best. You saw that, did you now?"

"From a distance only. I'm guessing their objective was eliminating chain of command."

More hesitation.

"Yes, it was. Since my current predicament. I am afraid I will have to live in this suit till this is all over. I do not want to have survived that battle only to die from an assassin." That…. Cleared it up.

That explained it all. The high tension in everyone. The armor. They must have suspected a traitor or an assassin in the army. It explained everything in but a sentence. Still Karroy thought that this was a bit over the top and paranoid. Oh well. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Of course sir." The captains disarming smile returned.

"Now is there anything else I can do for you sergeant?"

"No sir."

"Then you're dismissed."

Karroy threw a salute and headed out. He was about to exit the tent when his eyes caught on something.

Each suit of armor was propped up on a wooden construct. Very theatrical like, the suits held their weapons in front of them. Next to the flap was the armor that must have saved the captains life. Ornate plate armor, or rather it once was. The chest piece was fused together with a charred hole on the front. Must have been some real fucking good armor to save a man from whatever did that. But unlike the rest of the dummies, this one didn't have a sword to it. The sheath was still there but no sword. He looked back at the captain.

He was never that good with faces. Most people were but an unimportant blur to Karroy. But it was the sword that caught his eye. A well-made straight sword, its blade decorated with words. Ornate handle. He has seen this sword before. Except in the hands of the infantryman whom he saved in the ambush.

Well shit.

"Is something the matter sergeant?"

Alright, he just had to go with it. Poker face on. Deadbeat look, check.

"No sir, just looking at the damage. Must have been quite a blow." Karroy felt something.

"Yes, yes it was sergeant."

A quick nod, salute, turn and Karroy made to leave. That is until a feminine voice spoke up with the word he did not want to hear.

"He knows."

A heart-beat passed before anyone reacted in the tent. But then the imposter spoke up.

"Well that is an issue."

He heard a blade drawn. And another. And another.

He whirled around to find two swords pointed at his throat. The aids have moved in.


End file.
